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i.ir,  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBHAHY  EACIIMV 

II                          1 

9 

UCSB   LIBRARY 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  witii  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


littp://www.archive.org/details/aprilweatherOOkudeiala 


APRIL  WEATHER 


APRIL   WEATHBR 


BY 

BLANCHE  BANE  KUDER 


THE  CORNHILL  PUBLISHING  CO. 
BOSTON       NEW  YOBK 


COFTBIGHT  1922 

Bt 
THE  CORNHILL  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


THE  JOBDAN  ft  MORB  PBEBS 
BOSTON 


To  My  Father 
THEODORE  BANE 


For  permission  to  reprint  these  poems  I  am 
indebted  to  the  following  Magazines:  Sunset 
Magazine,  McClure's  Magazine,  The  Woman* s 
Home  Companion,  Success,  Young  People,  Sun- 
day Press  Magazine,  Forward,  and  The  Lyric. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Invitation 3-4 

The  Wet  Road 6-6 

To  Lieutenant  Pat  O'Brien 7-8 

The  Fairy  Town 9-10 

The  Strange  Woman 11-12 

The  Return 13 

A  Mother  Walks  in  Her  Garden 14 

The  Shropshire  Lad 16-16 

Mv  Ship 17-18 

To  A  Rose  Tree  Brought  from  the  Alhambra     .      .      19 

Remembering  Her  Garden 20-21 

"How  Many  Aprils" 22-23 

Song 24 

The  Wind  and  the  Road 25-26 

The  Meeting 27-28 

"If,  in  the  Skyey  Blue" 29-30 

To  George  Meredith 31 

Today 32 

At  a  Wayside  Shrine 33-34 

The  Flight 85-36 

Candle  Time 37 

The  Lover  Praises  His  Mistress 38 

'TwAs  April  Brought  the  Daffodil 39 

Elegie  (Lemare) 40 

The  Nest 41 


liz] 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Poet 42 

Rain  in  Spring 43 

Three  Songs  from  Arcady: 

I.     The  Wind  that  Shakes  the  Aspen  Tree      44-46 

II.     Arcady 47-48 

III.     The  Meadow 49-50 

A  Far  Country 61-52 

Oblivion 63-54 

In  Eden 65 

Homesick 66-57 

The  House 68 

Quatrain 69 

April  Wind 60 

For  a  Very  Little  Person 61-62 


U] 


APRIL  WEATHER 


THE   INVITATION 

0  all  you  little  poet  folk 
Who  play  around  with  me, 

Come  out  into  the  garden  for 
A  quiet  cup  of  tea. 

We'll  sit  beneath  the  arbor  old 
Where  honeysuckles  twine, 

And  you  will  read  me  all  your  songs, 
And  I  will  read  you  mine. 

And  after  you  have  fed  my  soul 
With  pleasant  words — and  true — 

I'll  very  gladly  say  the  same 
Enchanting  things  to  you. 


131 


APEIL  WEATHER 

And  when  the  time  for  parting  comes, 
— It  will  seem  far  too  soon — 

We'll  all  agree  that  we  have  spent 
A  charming  afternoon  I 


141 


THE  WET  ROAD 

Leave  the  stretch  of  the  dusty  highway,  strip  your 

fetters  and  make  you  free, 
Heedless  of  lure  of  lane  and  by-way,  forsake  your 

dreaming  and  come  with  me 
The  way  of  the  gray  and  the  shining  surges,  the 

long  wet  road  that  is  called  the  sea. 

"Why  do  you  sigh  for  the  spring-time  maying,  scent 
of  hawthorn  and  lilac  sweet, 

And  the  beckoning  fields  where  you  two  went  stray- 
ing when  youth  was  laughter  and  life  com- 
plete? 

Do  you  not  know  that  the  primrose  path  may  never 
be  trod  by  returning  feet! 


[5] 


APRIL  WEATHEE 

There  is  a  voice  that  is  all-compelling,  dominant, 

not  to  be  denied, 
Harking  you  out  from  your  inland  dwelling  to  take 

your  way  with  the  ebbing  tide 
Where  the  sun  is  a  friend  and  the  gulls   are 

brothers,  and  a  star  is  set  as  the  only  guide. 

And  the  years  hold  promise  of  glad  tomorrows  and 
of  great  joys  that  are  yet  to  be, 

And  the  keenest  sorrow  of  all  your  sorrows 
becomes  but  a  shadowy  memory, 

When  you  take  the  road  where  the  winds  are  run- 
ning, the  long  wet  road  that  is  called  the  sea ! 


W 


TO  LIEUTENANT   PAT   O'BRIEN 

Grand  were  the  gifts  they  brought  to  you,  the  fair- 
ies that  came  to  your  christening, 

Them  that  danced  in  the  midnight  dew  and  trod  the 
green  of  the  pixy  ring. 

Sure,  themselves  must  have  liked  you  fine  when 
they  laid  in  your  cradle  tokens  three. 

The  gift  of  smiles,  and  the  gift  of  wings,  and  the 
gift  of  friends  in  a  far  countree. 

So  it  was  yoursilf  that  rode  the  sky  for  a  bit  of  a 

chat  with  the  Northern  Star, 
Or  watched  the  great  cloud  ships  sail  by  from  the 

charted  space  where  the  airlanes  are. 
Faith,  and  I  think  you  laughed  at  death  as  you 

curved  and  dipped  in  the  shining  blue. 
Did  you  know  that  he  held  never  a  dart  that  would 

serve  to  shatter  the  wings  of  you? 


171 


APRIL  WEATHER 

Ever  hot-foot  to  dangers  new  with  a  heart  forget- 
ting the  dangers  past. 

The  Little  Green  Men  were  good  to  you,  for  the 
luck  of  the  Irish-born  held  fast. 

And  now  that  you've  winged  it  a  bit  too  high  to 
the  place  where  the  longest  journey  ends, 

It 's  Peter  himself  flung  wide  the  gate  with  a '  *  Wel- 
come, lad,  you're  among  your  friends!" 


[81 


THE  FAIRY  TOWN 

That  I  should  see  a  Fairy  Town, 
Half  hidden  in  a  shining  mist! 

That  I  should  be  the  blessed  one 
The  Little  Man  in  Green  had  kissed  I 
The  Little  Man  in  Green  had  kissed 

And  spread  before  my  waking  eyes 
A  Fairy  Town  of  amethyst, 

A  Fairy  Town  with  silver  skies  I 

That  I, should  see  a  Fairy  Town 

All  emerald  and  rose  and  blue ! 
And  in  a  moment  I  might  see 

The  Fairy  Folk  come  tripping  through. 

The  Fairy  Folk  come  tripping  through, 
In  kirtles  green  and  kirtles  brown, 

To  draw  me  in  a  magic  ring 
Into  the  heart  of  Fairy  Town. 


[9\ 


APRIL  WEATHER 

That  I  should  see  a  Fairy  Town ! 

The  golden  fingers  of  the  sun 
Came  swiftly,  surely  pulling  down 

The  silver  curtains,  one  by  one. 

The  silver  curtains,  one  by  one 
The  fingers  brushed  them  all  away, 

And  smiled  before  me  in  the  dawn. 
My  Little  Town  of  every  day. 


[101 


THE  STRANGE  WOMAN 

Than  honey  knew  I  love  was  sweeter, 
Than  arrow  knew  I  death  was  fleeter, 

Then  did  I  dread  the  poisoned  cup 
Or  turn  me  that  I  might  not  meet  her! 

I  hastened  to  the  dancing  place. 
For  that  mad  hour  grant  me  grace! 
And  glamoured  by  the  leaping  fire 
My  hot  eyes  sought  and  found  her  face. 

A  slender  thing  of  frost  and  flame, 
Gray  were  the  years  until  she  came, 

She  drew  me  with  a  scarlet  thread, 
And  bound  my  feet  with  cords  of  shame. 

My  breast  that  pillowed  once  her  head 
Until  the  eastern  sky  burned  red. 

Knows  well  what  price  she  asked  of  me. 
For  that  one  night  my  soul  is  dead. 


APRIL  WEATHER 

Yet  knew  I  love  than  honey  sweeter, 
Than  arrow  far  was  my  death  fleeter, 
I  shrank  not  from  the  cup  she  bore, 
My  heart  outran  my  feet  to  meet  her ! 


112] 


THE  RETURN 

They  say  the  snow  drifts  deep  and  cold, 

And  yet  no  snow  I  see. 
Spring  laughs  within  my  heart — to-day 

My  Dear  comes  home  to  me. 

Over  the  trackless  road  he  comes, 

He  journeys  long  and  far. 
The  screaming  gull  his  constant  friend. 

And  for  his  guide  a  star. 

Over  the  trackless  road  he  comes, 

The  billows  break  in  foam. 
And  miles  to  him  are  little  things 

For  he  is  coming  home. 

And  do  you  wonder  that  I  feel 
No  wind  that  blasts  and  chills! 

My  Dear  comes  home  to  day — and  spring 
Is  white  upon  the  hills  I 

113] 


APEIL  WEATHER 

A  MOTHER  WALKS  IN  HER  GARDEN 
1917 

The  clipped  hedge  and  the  hollyhocks, 
The  pungent  borders  of  the  box, 
The  stretch  of  meadow,  green  and  wide, 
Somewhere  in  France  ahoy  has  died. 

That  I  may  walk  in  my  garden  dim, 
His  clean  young  soul  is  gone  from  him. 
That  I  may  loiter  in  sun-drenched  dreams. 
Over  his  head  the  wild  shell  screams. 

The  apricots  by  the  southern  wall. 
The  purple  heaps  where  the  ripe  plums  fall, 
The  fringed  grass  by  the  sunk  pool's  side. 
Somewhere  in  France  a  hoy  has  died. 

That  I  may  gather  of  fruit  and  bloom 
His  be  the  pain  and  rack  and  doom, 
The  ashen  face  and  the  tortured  limb. 
And  mine  own  son  may  follow  him! 


[14 


THE  SHROPSHIRE  LAD 
(A.  E.  Housman) 

The  cherry  branches  are  white  with  flower, 

The  green's  on  meadow  and  fen — 
Let  me  come  to  you  for  an  hour 

And  walk  with  you  again. 

Tell  me  your  tale  of  the  poplar  trees 

That  bordered  the  brook  you  knew, 
And  with  never  a  wind  to  stir  their  leaves. 

Sighed  with  the  soul  of  you. 

Take  me  away  into  Wenlock  Town, 

AVhere  the  broom  is  yellow  as  gold. 
And  you  plucked  the  boughs  from  the  hawthorn 
tree 

As  full  as  your  arms  could  hold. 


(161 


APRIL  WEATHER 

And  show  me  the  tender  trysting  place 

Under  the  aspen  tree, 
"Where  the  aspen  whispered  as  you  went  by 

Its  pitiful  prophecy. 

Take  me  away  from  these  noisy  streets, 
These  crowds  of  hurrying  men. 

Let  me  come  to  you  for  an  hour 
And  walk  with  you  again ! 


[161 


MY  SHIP 

It*s  I  stand  watching,  watching  across  the  waters 

gray, 
Where  the  old,  old  ships  come  slowly  home  and  the 

young  ships  sail  away. 
Where  the  old,  old  ships  come  slowly  home,  borne 

on  the  tireless  sea. 
But  when  will  the  little  ship  I  sent  come  sailing 

back  to  me? 

Never  you  saw  a  ship  so  fair,  with  her  colors  flying 

far, 
And  the  curving  swell  of  her  wind-filled  sails  as 

white  as  the  breakers  are. 
Straight  she  rode  in  her  gallant  pride,  breasting 

the  windy  dawn, 
And  I  watched  with  eyes  that  were  hot  with  tears 

the  way  that  my  ship  had  gone. 


1171 


APEIL  WEATHER 

The  days  are  long,  and  the  nights  are  drear,  but 

I've  taken  Hope  for  my  friend. 
And  we  wait  in  the  curve  of  the  harbor  bay  till  the 

voyage  shall  have  an  end; 
We  wait  in  the  curve  of  the  harbor  bay — never  our 

hearts  shall  tire, 
Better  the  sight  of  eyes  that  see  than  wandering 

of  desire! 

Slowly  the  old,  old  ships  loom  up  on  the  far 

horizon's  line, 
But  I  give  them  never  a  second  glance,  for  none  of 

these  ships  is  mine. 
It's  the  little  ship  that  I'm  longing  for,  and  the 

joy  that  must  yet  begin. 
So  Hope  and  I  in  the  harbor  watch  and  wait  tiU 

my  ship  comes  in ! 


1181 


TO  A  EOSE  TREE  BROUGHT  FROM  THE 
ALHAMBRA 

Why  did  you  die?    Within  my  garden-close 
Nor  tender  wind  of  spring  nor  summer  rain 
Could  call  your  bud  unto  the  bough  again 

Nor  make  you  blush  to  bloom,  most  lovely  Rose! 

When  that  I  took  you  from  your  crumbling  wall, 
''Here,"  said  my  heart,  "In  mine  own  garden 

fair 
A  rose  of  Spain  shall  perfume  the  still  air 

And  petals  murmur  legends  as  they  fall." 

Alas  my  dream !    Not  even  my  love  could  bring 
The  plashing  of  the  fountain,  nor  the  note 
Of  lute  that  was  the  nightingale 's  own  throat 

As  he  poured  out  the  passion  of  the  spring. 

Fool  that  I  was !    You  could  not  live  again 
When  all  your  soul,  like  mine,  was  far  in  Spain ! 


119] 


APRIL  WEATHER 


REMEMBERING  HER  GARDEN 

And  does  my  garden  dream  of  me 
Who  loved  each,  flower  petal  so,  • 

Who  thrilled  with  vernal  ecstasy 
WTien  May's  new  buds  began  to  blow? 

0  tell  me,  do  my  pansies  turn 
With  tender  eyes  wide-questioning, 

As  though  in  eagerness  to  learn 
Why  I  have  gone  away  from  spring? 

Could  I  go  back  for  just  one  day 
To  view  the  stately  hollyhocks  I 

To  mark  the  soldierly  array 
And  stiff  precision  of  the  stocks  I 

To  greet  the  pinks,  half  shy,  half  bold, 
Like  country  damsels  decked  for  town, 

And  pick  a  gaudy  marigold 
Dressed  to  the  nines  in  brass  and  brown  I 


120] 


And  does  my  garden  dream  of  me, 
Who  knew  of  every  bloom  the  soul! 

I  sicken  for  its  ministry, 
I  crave  its  bahn  to  make  me  whole  I 


1211 


APEIL  WEATHER 


''HOW  MANY  APRILS'' 

How  many  Aprils  I  shall  see 
With  fadeless  shimmering 

And  misty  bloom  on  lUac-tree 
Repeat  another  spring 

I  do  not  know.  And  yet  today 
Your  eyes  held  by  my  own, 

I  dreamed  of  Aprils  far  away 
That  I  have  never  known. 

I  dreamed  of  Aprils  far  away, 
All  peacock-green  and  blue. 

Perfected,  soft,  enchanting,  gay. 
And  lacking  only  you  I 

0  little  ghosts  of  Aprils  far 
So  tender,  warm  and  sweet. 

To  those  dim  places  where  you  are 
I  turn  my  willing  feet. 


[221 


I  hasten  down  your  leafy  way, 
I  scent  your  lilac-tree, 

And  live,  unmindful  of  today, 
In  Aprils  yet  to  be  I 


1231 


APEIL  WEATHEE 


SONG 


There  was  a  rose  that  fell  to  dust 

There  was  a  wind  that  blew. 
And  a  butterfly  with  yellow  wings, 

And  you — and  you  I 

The  dust  of  the  rose  is  scattered  far 
The  wings  are  clogged  with  dew, 

The  little  wind  died  when  the  sun  went  down. 
And  you — and  you? 


{241 


THE  WIND  AND  THE  ROAD 

There  is  a  road  that  bids  me  go,  winding  o  'er  hill 

and  hollow, 
Eager  my  heart  leaps  forth  to  lead  the  way  that 

my  feet  would  follow, 
Lured  by  the  pipe  of  the  blackbird  *s  cry  and  the 

flashing  wings  of  the  swallow. 

There  is  a  wind  that  calls  to  love — it  is  the  south 

wind  sighing. 
And  one  of  the  winds  is  a  battle  call — ^it  is  the 

north  wind  crying. 
And  the  east  wind  calls  for  a  man  to  grieve  o'er 

the  grave  where  his  youth  is  lying. 

But  the  wind  from  the  west — 0  heart,  my  heart, 
quiet  your  ache  and  yearning. 

Cease,  my  eyes,  to  implore  the  skies  where  the  sun- 
set fires  are  burning. 

My  feet  are  held  from  the  ribboned  road — ^for  me 
there  is  no  returning. 

[25] 


APEIL  WEATHER 

A  knapsack  full  of  thwarted  plans  and  a  broken 

life  to  greet  her ! 
Her  eyes  like  a  quiet  mountain  lake  and  her  voice 

than  throstles  sweeter, 
What  could  I  say  of  all  my  hopes  when  I  turned 

my  face  to  meet  her? 

Lured  by  the  pipe  of  the  blackbird's  cry  and  the 

flashing  wings  of  the  swallow 
There  is  a  road  that  bids  me  go,  winding  o  'er  hill 

and  hollow. 
There  is  a  wind  that  blows  my  heart  where  I  would 

that  my  feet  might  follow  I 


[26] 


THE  MEETING 
(James  E.  Flecker  and  Rupert  Brooke) 

So  swift  and  strangely  passed  the  hours 

Above  his  tawny  golden  head 
That,  seeing  half  familiar  flowers, 

He  did  not  know  that  he  was  dead. 

The  last  his  earthly  eyes  had  known 
Before  death  set  his  spirit  free, 

The  red  light  of  the  sunset,  thrown 
Across  the  blue  Aegean  sea. 

One  greeted  him  with  friendly  eyes : 
— Untaught,  he  knew  the  heavenly  tongue — 

"You  know  me,  here  in  Paradise? 
I  was  a  poet,  I  was  young  I " 


(271 


APRIL  WEATHER 

**Is  this,  indeed,  the  Lord's  great  town? 

Treading  these  beds  of  asphodel, 
I  thought  that  I  had  wandered  down 

In  Grecian  ways  I  knew  so  well. ' ' 

Then  passed,  in  shining  flight,  God's  choir. 

He  turned  and  smiled,  remembering, 
*  *  Or  I  may  be  in  Grantchester — 

'The  evening  hush,  the  homing  wing!'  " 


[281 


*^IF,  IN  THE  SKYEY  BLUE" 

If,  in  the  skyey  blue, 

My  eyes  can  see  your  eyes. 
If  I  can  dream  your  wind-blown  hair. 

That  shines  in  Paradise; 

If  every  lyric  bird 

Bursting  its  throat  with  spring, 
Can  make  me  hear  your  voice,  your  voice 

In  joyous  carolling; 

If  patter  of  the  rain 

From  autumn  boughs  that  drips. 
Can  make  me  feel  the  poignant  touch 

Of  your  compelling  lips ; 

Then  should  my  sad  heart  grieve 

That  we  must  walk  apart. 
For  lack  of  your  dear  hand  in  mine—;. 

My  heart  against  your  heart? 

1291 


APEIL  WEATHER 

If,  in  the  skyey  blue, 

My  eyes  may  meet  your  eyes. 
Then  can  my  spirit,  touched  with  flame 

Chant  high  in  Paradise ! 


130] 


TO  GEOEGE  MEREDITH 
(Died  at  Boxhill,  May,  1909) 

A  spray  of  white  bean  at  his  side, 

White  roses  on  his  breast 
He  lies.    How  very  peacefully 

He  takes  his  meed  of  rest. 

**Let  the  gods  rob  of  what  they  will. 
If  they  leave  what  is  sure," 

Thus  wrote  he  to  his  friend,  *  *  the  heart, 
The  brave  heart  to  endure." 

How  very  peacefully  he  lies 
With  things  he  loved  a  part. 

White  rose  and  flowering  bean  above 
His  brave  enduring  heart. 


131] 


APRIL  WEATHEE 


TODAY 

**Wlien  I  come  back,"  you  said  to  me, 

"It  will  be  thus  and  thus. 
We'll  count  the  honeyed  sweets  in  store 

The  future  has  for  us. 
Our  days  will  all  be  golden  days, 

And  nothing  shall  we  lack. 
Oh,  spring  of  the  year  and  love,  my  Dear, 

For  us — ^when  I  come  back ! " 

"When  you  come  home,"  I  said,  "my  heart 

Will  be  a  bird  that  sings 
The  haunting  airs  of  loveliness 

Of  all  our  wasted  springs. 
No  space  too  high  our  souls  to  reach, 

Too  vast  for  us  to  roam." 
My  voice  said  "When,"  but  oh,  my  heart 

Cried  out,  "7/  you  come  home  I" 


[321 


AT  A  WAYSIDE  SHRINE 

Mary,  Mother,  my  heart  is  sad,  like  thine  own  dear 

heart  it  is  pierced  with  sorrow, 
Ever  with  dusk  I  dread  the  night,  ever  with  night 

I  fear  the  morrow. 

Ever  with  dusk  I  dread  the  night — ^what  can  it 

bring  but  hopeless  waking? 
And  the  crimson  glow  in  the  burnished  west  but 

mocks  a  heart  that  is  sore  with  aching. 

It  was  thy  Son  for  forty  days  in  the  wilderness 

strove  with  pride  and  lust. 
It  is  my  son  who  strove  and  failed,  and  the  gifts  of 

Satan  have  turned  to  dust. 

Empty-handed — thou  knowest  where — sleeps  he 
or  wakes!    Is  he  dead  or  living? 

Lead  him  back  where  his  mother  waits,  rich  with 
the  gifts  for  love's  own  giving. 


133] 


APEIL  WEATHER 

Sin-worn  f axje  with  graven  lines  carved  by  follies, 

I  do  not  see. 
Only  my  baby,  tired  with  play,  stretches  his  arms 

and  cries  for  me. 

Mary,  Mother,  thy  Name  I  plead,  of  thy  mercy  I 

ask  a  sign — 
Look  on  the  face  of  Christ,  Thy  Son — ^know  me 

mother — and  send  me  mine. 


[341 


THE  FLIGHT 

That  night  there  was  a  great  wind  that  blew  across 

the  sky, 
So  strong  it  struck  the  steady  stars  when  swift  it 

hurtled  by, 
I  thought  I  saw  the  bright  things  like  fireflies  at 

play, 
A  great  wind,  a  strong  wind — and  it  blew  my  soul 

away. 

Light  as  a  feather  from  faery  bird  my  gay  soul 

rose  and  flew. 
My  soul  that  was  vague  as  wind-blown  smoke  with 

star-shine  sifting  through. 
My  soul  that  was  clad  in  rainbow  dyes,  joyous  and 

fair  and  free, 
And  I  was  brushed  with  magic  wings  when  my  soul 

came  back  to  me. 


(351 


APEIL  WEATHER 

Oh,  I  walk  in  the  market-place,  I  speak  with  my 

neighbor's  tongue, 
But  what  knows  he  of  the  wind  and  night  when  my 

soul  and  I  were  young? 
What  knows  he  of  the  dancing  stars  blowing  about 

the  sky 
When  my  soul  went  up  like  a  singing  flame  on  the 

great  wind  rushing  by! 


1361 


CANDLE  TIME 

I  ought  to  light  the  candles, 
The  room  is  growing  dim, 

I  ought  to  light  the  candles, 
But  I  want  him  I 

The  gray  shadows*  footsteps 
Steal  around  his  chair. 

My  eyes  ache  with  straining. 
He  is  not  there. 

He  used  to  light  the  candles 
When  twilight  came, 

Smiling,  as  shot  up 
The  yellow  clear  flame. 

He  did  not  like  the  shadows, 

So,  for  his  sake — 
Oh,  if  I  light  the  candles, 

My  heart  will  break ! 

[371 


APEIL  WEATHER 


THE  LOVER  PRAISES  HIS  MISTRESS 

The  hills  are  happy  because  they  kiss  the  sandals 

of  the  Lord, 
They  reach  up  their  leaves — suppliant  hands 

touching  his  skirts  with  adoring  fingers, 
And  when  the  south  wind  blows 
They  clap  their  hands  with  joy,  be<jause  it  is  his 

breath. 
They  are  glad  when  night  comes  and  the  stars  that 

fall  from  the  shoes  of  his  angels 
Fringe  them  with  scintillant  spangles. 
The  hills  are  happy  because  they  kiss  the  sandals 

of  the  Lord, 
And  my  heart  is  happy  if  I  may  kiss  your  feet. 


[381 


'TWAS  APRIL  BROUGHT  THE  DAFFODIL 

'Twas  April  brought  the  daffodil, 

An  empty  cup  of  flame 
It  burned  upon  the  greening  hill 

The  morning  that  you  came. 

And  after  that  brief  lovely  year, 

— Or  was  it  but  a  day! — 
The  daffodil  was  flaming,  dear. 

The  night  you  went  away. 

Why  daffodils  for  love's  demands? 

The  whitest  blooms  they  knew 
They  should  have  placed  within  your  hands 

To  show  the  soul  of  you  I 

Now  April  brings  the  daffodil. 

There  grows  for  my  desire, 
A  common  flower  upon  the  hill, 

Where  once  burned  yellow  fire. 


1391 


APRIL  WEATHER 


ELEGIE— LEMARE 

Come  bring  the  fragrant  mignonette  and  place  the 
white  sweet  lilies  dim, 
And  chant  the  hymn, 
And  light  the  slender  waxen  tapers  clear,  and  let 
them  for  her  bum, 
Who  will  no  more  return. 

Why  do  you  weep?    Can  all  your  rain  of  bitter 
unavailing  tears 
Bring  back  those  years 
When  you  and  she,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  wan- 
dered through  apple  blossom  ways 
Of  unforgotten  Mays? 

How  still  she  lies !    The  winds  of  earth  her  hair  no 
more  may  stir,  her  feet 
That  were  so  white  and  sweet. 
Tread  the  eternal  happy  fields,  and  the  soft  smil- 
ing of  her  eyes 
Looks  upon  Paradise ! 


[40] 


THE  NEST 

Last  night  I  dreamed  of  a  nest, 

Carefully  fashioned,  hair-lined  and  warm, 
A  shelter  from  rain  and  the  driving  storm, 
Poised  in  the  crotch  of  the  tree  with  care 
For  the  frail  little  fledglings  hidden  there, 

And  that  was  the  best. 

Tonight  I  will  dream  of  a  nest. 

The  hollow  of  my  shoulder,  warm  and  living. 
Formed  for  the  gift  of  love 's  own  giving. 
The  hour  of  trial  I  will  not  dread. 
Ah,  soon  shall  I  feel  the  little  head. 

And  that  will  be  best ! 


[411 


APRIL  WEATHER 


THE  POET 

Out  of  the  loves  of  a  thousand  years 
Deep  as  the  sea,  as  the  sea  as  strong, 

Of  love's  sweet  sorrows  and  love's  sweet  fears, 
The  poet  made  his  song. 

Her  eyes  are  gray  as  the  sea-gull's  wing, 
Her  hair  a  fragrance  of  dusky  shade. 

And  her  voice  was  a  calling,  living  thing 
In  the  song  the  poet  made. 

Sanctuary  is  at  her  feet, 

She  will  shrive  from  your  secret  sin. 
Her  love  is  a  refuge  aU  complete, 

Once  you  have  entered  in. 

He  broke  my  heart  with  a  whole  world's  pain 
Think  you  he  will  sing  that  song  again? 

Lord  and  Master  of  death  is  he 

For  he  sang  my  dead  love  back  to  me  I 


142] 


EAIN  IN  SPRING 

Hear  the  marching  and  the  beat 

In  the  shadowed  lane, 
Of  the  mystic,  maddened,  fleet, 

Million-footed  rain. 

Well  I  know  the  cherry  boughs 

Hidden  in  the  gloom, 
Make  a  wet  and  fragrant  house 

Of  their  dripping  bloom. 

Hawthorn  white  with  laughing  May, 
Oh,  how  strange  it  seems 
I  was  with  you  yesterday, 
Maying — in  my  dreams! 


143 


APEIL  WEATHER 

THREE  SONGS  FROM  ARCADY 

I 

THE  WIND  THAT   SHAKES  THE   ASPEN 

TREE 

The  wind  that  shakes  the  aspen  tree, 

A  kindly  wind  it  is  to  me, 

For,  while  the  quivering  aspen  heaves 

Its  multitudes  of  silver  leaves 

It  whispers  of  dim  lovely  things. 

Of  blooms  of  half -remembered  springs. 

Of  April  airs  all  warm  and  sweet. 

Of  wandering  paths  that  drew  my  feet 

Through  fragrant  ways  most  dear  to  me. 

And  led  me  straight  to  Arcadyl 


1441 


0  but  those  fields  are  fresh  and  fair  I 
0  but  the  winds  are  gentle  there ! 
The  blossom  laughs  upon  the  bough — 
Would  I  could  see  those  blossoms  now  I 
There  shines  on  every  greening  hill 
The  yellow  light  of  daffodil, 
In  every  sheltered  garden  close 
Blooms  the  unfading  Perfect  Rose, 
And  spring's  and  summer's  ecstasy 
Are  merged  in  one,  in  Arcady. 


145J 


APRIL  WEATHER 

Pan  is  not  dead !    His  voice  is  heard 
In  every  call  of  every  bird, 
The  little  haunted  brooks  that  run 
Laughing  and  bright  beneath  the  sun, 
Or  hid  in  shadowy  wood-aisles  dim, 
Sing  their  low  songs  because  of  him. 
And  'tis  his  voice  that  through  the  days 
Calls  back  the  unf orgotten  ways, 
When  soft  winds  shake  the  aspen  tree 
And  lure  me  straight  to  Arcady. 


1461 


n 

ARCADY 

"Why  are  your  eyes  so  wide  and  sad? 

(Bitter  the  tears  they  must  have  known) 
Why  do  you  turn  from  the  haunts  of  men, 

Why  do  you  follow  your  path  alone?" 

"Gray  is  the  drift  of  the  flying  cloud, 
Gray  the  stretch  of  the  rain-swept  sea. 

Who  can  tell  me  the  way  to  go, 
Which  is  the  way  into  Arcady? 

**I  dwelt  there  once,  in  the  long  ago. 
My  eyes  were  blind  to  its  beauty  then. 

And  I  turned  my  back  on  the  shining  fields 
To  follow  after  the  ways  of  men. 

"Long  have  I  travelled  the  dreary  road 
(Cruel  the  wind  with  its  cutting  cold) 

Seeking  the  joy  that  I  may  not  know, 
Longing  for  that  which  I  may  not  hold. 

[47] 


APRIL  WEATHER 

"Now  my  eyes  they  are  old  and  sad, 
They  ache  for  the  vision  they  may  not  see. 

I  have  lost  the  way  to  my  heart's  desire, 
I  have  lost  the  way  into  Arcady!'* 


[481 


m 

THE  MEADOW 

I  know  a  way — ^will  you  go,  my  dear? 

Will  you  follow  the  path  with  me  1 
The  path  that  leads  from  the  Now  and  Here 

Forth  into  Arcady? 
Where  always  the  rose  is  red  and  sweet, 

Where  always  the  skies  are  blue, 
Where  there  is  rest  for  wandering  feet 

In  the  Meadow  Where  Dreams  Come  True. 

Leave  behind  you  your  bitter  grief. 

Laugh  at  your  haunting  care. 
Loose  the  fetters  of  unbelief — 

Arcady 's  flowers  are  fair! 
Make  you  a  garland  of  daffodUs 

With  never  a  sprig  of  rue. 
And  we'll  follow  the  path  o'er  the  Happy  Hills 

To  the  Meadow  Where  Dreams  Come  True. 


[49] 


APRIL  WEATHER 

We  will  dream  our  dreams  as  the  hours  go, 

We  will  fashion  them  fair  and  fine, 
And  all  of  my  dreams  will  be  yours,  you  know, 

And  all  of  your  dreams  be  mine. 
Dear,  will  you  follow  the  path  with  me? 

I'm  waiting  for  you,  for  you. 
To  take  the  path  into  Arcady, 

To  the  Meadow  Where  Dreams  Come  True. 


1501 


A  FAE  COUNTRY 

0  to  go  home  again,  just  as  the  dusk  is  falling ! 
From  out  the  bush  by  the  broken  gate  to  hear  a 

robin  calling! 
To  see  the  green  o'  the  meadow,  drenched  with  the 

heavy  dew, 
And  to  know  that  back  o*  that  door  are  warmth 

and  light  and  you  I 

This  is  a  splendid  town,  but  there's  never  a  song- 
bird in  it, 

1  can  walk  the  whole  of  the  day  and  not  see  the  red 

throat  of  a  linnet, 
I  can  walk  the  whole  of  the  day,  and  the  only 

flowers  I  see 
Are  the  roses  and  pinks  in  the  flower  shops  that 

have  no  call  for  me. 


[51] 


APRIL  WEATHER 

I  mind  the  bunch  of  marigolds  you  always  kept  on 
the  shelf, 

Does  the  house  seem  very  quiet  now  when  you're 
there  all  by  yourself? 

You're  busy  all  of  the  day,  I  know,  but  when  the 
twilight  falls 

Does  never  my  voice  speak  to  you  out  of  the  lone- 
some walls  f 

0  to  go  home  again,  to  the  house  that  I  was  leav- 
ing! 

Was  it  myself  was  glad  to  go,  though  I  saw  your 
eyes  were  grieving? 

Fool  that  I  was  to  want  the  town  because  it  was 
strange  and  new, 

And  to  think  that  back  of  that  door  are  warmth 
and  light  and  you! 


[62] 


OBLIVION 

When  I  am  beaten  up  by  the  hoofs, 
Dust  of  the  dust  from  whence  I  came, 

Done  with  hatreds — ^not  with  loves! — 
Unremembered,  without  a  name, 

May  my  gods  grant  me  the  gift  of  this, 

My  dust  may  find  your  dust  to  kiss  I 

Think  of  it!    Madness?    Say  not  so, 
Here  in  the  flesh  my  lips  met  yours, 

We  are  but  shapes  that  come  and  go. 
Bodies  perish — ^but  love  endures! 

Mist  of  stars  and  the  bluebird's  wing, 

Rose  of  dawn  and  the  cry  of  spring  I 


63] 


APEIL  WEATHER 

How  shall  I  know  you  in  the  air 

Beaten  up  by  careless  feet? 
Here  in  the  flesh  you  are  so  fair, 

Flower-flushing  and  flower-sweet, 
When  that  time  comes — as  it  will — suppose 
I  long  in  the  blue  for  the  dust  of  a  rose  I 


1541 


IN   EDEN 

The  apple  boughs  blossomed  in  Eden. 
''Will  you  pluck — do  you  dare?" 
Said  Adam  to  Eve. 
*  *  Ah  no — ^by  your  leave — 
With  boughs  blossom  bare 
There'll  be  no  apples  there." 

The  apples  hung  ripened  in  Eden. 
**If  you  do  not  dare 
Permit  me, ' '  said  Eve, 
''And  I'll  take  what  you  leave! 

See,  thanks  to  my  care 

How  the  fruitage  is  fair." 

They  fled  in  a  panic  from  Eden. 
"Oh,  how  could  you  dare," 
Indignant  sobbed  Eve 
"Those  blossoms  to  leave! 
Had  we  stripped  the  boughs  bare 
There  were  no  apples  there ! ' ' 

1551 


APRIL   WEATHER 


HOMESICK 

There  is  a  garden  where  riotous  roses  sweeten  the 

sunny  day, 
And  the  walks  are  bordered  with  heliotrope  that 

purples  all  the  way. 

Sweet-peas  flutter  their  fragrant  wings,  lavender, 
mauve,  and  white. 

Or  are  they  a  flock  of  butterflies  in  a  rush  of  deli- 
cate flight? 

And  there  are  trees — two  apple  trees — and  one 

little  slender  peach. 
It  blossomed  bravely  a  year  ago,  but  the  blossoms 

were  out  of  reach. 

Curving  line  of  a  rosy  flame  out  on  the  topmost 

bough. 
I  wonder  if  that  same  little  peach  has  put  forth 

blossoms  now! 


[56] 


Curving  line  of  a  rosy  flame  burning  against  the 

blue. 
And,  pointing  the  blossoms  out  to  me,  sweeter  than 

blossoms — you ! 

I  am  sick  of  alien  sights  and  sounds  here  by  a  for- 
eign sea ! 

I  want  to  go  to  a  place  where  you  and  a  garden 
wait  for  me. 

Ever  your  voice  is  calling  to  me — ever  it  bids  me 

come. 
There  is  a  garden — oh,  my  heart !    I  want — ^I  want 

to  go  home  I 


[571 


APRIL   WEATHER 


THE  HOUSE 

The  house  that  Love  has  built  for  me 
Is  just  as  rare  and  fair  to  see 
As  is  the  flash  of  bluebird's  wing, 
As  are  the  maple  buds  in  spring. 
With  tender  mist  of  cherry  bloom 
He  roofed  each  dim  and  lovely-  room, 
He  raised  the  walls  with  minstrelsy 
Of  that  dear  house  he  built  for  me. 

If  Love  should  build  for  you  a  house 
With  lyric  walls  and  roof  of  boughs. 
Would  you,  like  me,  be  full  content 
To  have  its  roof  your  firmament, 
To  ask  no  other  joy  than  this 
But  to  dwell  where  fulfilment  is 
Of  all  the  dearest  dreams  you  knew 
Within  the  house  Love  built  for  you  I 


[581 


QUATRAIN 

Love,  place  me  in  your  window  for  a  while, 
That  I  may  burgeon  in  your  shining  room- 
Bringing  my  heart  into  its  perfect  bloom, 

Beneath  the  benediction  of  your  smile. 


[59] 


APRIL  WEATHER 


APRIL  WIND 

The  wind  that  blows  in  April 

Is  not  the  wind  of  May. 
April's  wind  is  a  restless  wind 

With  luring  things  to  say. 

The  wind  of  May  is  quiet 

Caressing  lip  and  brow, 
April's  wind  is  a  vagrant  wind, 

And  it  is  April  now! 

The  wind  that  blows  in  April 
— Oh,  for  the  peace  of  May ! — 

Has  blown  my  heart  out  of  my  breast. 
Has  carried  my  soul  away ! 


1601 


FOR  A  VERY  LITTLE  PERSON 

The  Moon  speaks. 

Last  night  I  saw  a  little  boy 

Who  did  not  want  to  go  to  bed. 
He  put  the  nursery  window  up. 

"You  horrid  moon,"  he  said, 
"You  always  make  me  stop  my  play! 

I  think  I  'd  like  to  run  and  hide. ' ' 
And  then  he  wrinkled  up  his  nose 

And  cried  and  cried  and  cried! 


[61 


APRIL   WEATHER 

••  '    .         ■     ' 

-* 
,  ♦• 

To-night  another  little  boy 

All  scrubbed  and  clean  and  pink  and  white, 
With  Teddy  Bear  and  Peter  Pup 

Oame  up  to  say  goodnight. 
He  blew  a  little  kiss  to  me 

And  gaily  trotted  off  to  bed. 
''I'm  just  as  tired  as  I  can  be, 

Good  night,  dear  Moon,"  he  said. 

If  all  the  little  boys  I  see 
Were  only  just  that  nice  to  me ! 


[62 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  UBRARY 


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